Who We Are
by marley greene
Summary: A story of new beginnings. Vegeta/Bulma. Disclaimer: I claim very little...


Who We Are.

A Story of New Beginnings.

By: Marley.

Disclaimer: These characters were created by Akira Toriyama and he sold the rights to a lot of companies that I am in no way affiliated with. No one told this part of the story, though, so I figured I might as well… No money is being made off of this story and my work is released solely through FF.N.

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Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Bulma sighed and rolled over onto her back. She knew she'd been having a pleasant dream, but with every moment it slipped further from her conscious mind. It had definitely involved a pedicure. …maybe. This had been her first time sleeping in her own bed in more than a month, she thought angrily. She was therefore determined not to get up according to any schedule this morning.

The night before, she'd gone to bed early after watching the stars come out. Hell was probably a lot like Namek. The entire time she'd been abandoned on that deserted rock, all of its suns had never set. Her romantic dreams of stargazing and homesick wondering about Earth had remained an impossibility. The beeping hadn't stopped on its own.

She reached over to her side table, snatching the round alarm clock without opening her eyes and hurled it across the room. Unsurprisingly, it shattered against the wall. The noise it made disturbed Bulma however. She figured she just couldn't sleep through the destruction of Capsule Corp.'s machinery. Lazily, she blinked her eyes open.

The dim light of a winter morning filtered in through her sheer curtains. A long, short bureau on the wall across from her bed held several stacks of neatly wrapped Christmas presents from her family. Bulma smiled to see them, then immediately yawned. It was the first time she'd been away from home for Christmas. Not that her family was very religious, or strongly anything at all …besides intelligent, but she'd missed the holiday season all the same.

The smell of breakfast cooking invaded her senses and she smiled again. Finally, she was back to eating real food; she could enjoy meals that didn't come from out of a package inside of a capsule. Bulma threw back the downy quilt and prodded her stomach lightly. Then again, she mused as she wriggled over to the side of the bed, the limited diet and frequent missed meals certainly hadn't hurt her in any way. She stepped gingerly onto the floor, finding it pleasantly warm and padded over to the bureau. Some of her older clothes would surely fit her once again.

She rifled through several drawers before settling on a pair of worn, form-fitting jeans and a black sweater with a low neck and extra long sleeves. Bulma changed quickly in front of the mirror, pulling a disgusted face at the pale, milky white color her tan had faded to and ran a comb through her hair several times. You'd think it had been night all month on Namek. She glanced at her headbands and paused for just a moment before deciding to go without one.

"Gorgeous," she grinned as she turned to her reflection in the full-length mirror which hung on the back of her bathroom door before pulling it open. She quickly brushed her teeth and washed her face, while wondering about the presents on the bureau. Her father had been working with her on creating a hand-held video game, trying to crack into new markets, and she supposed he would have finished it. It was certainly among the mountain of green and red boxes, but she couldn't imagine what the rest of the gifts might be. She splashed water on her face one last time and turned off the faucet. Her heart dropped with the realization that for the first time in thirteen years, none of the presents would be from Yamcha. Bulma blinked at her reflection, determined not to cry.

The image blinking back at her was that of a pretty young woman. Her long, aqua hair hung straight behind her shoulders. Bright blue eyes were shining with unshed tears. Her smooth, clear skin gave no sign she would be thirty the next year. "Gorgeous," she repeated with an affirming nod and turned on her heel. She marched out of the bathroom, determined not to look at the makeshift Christmas display as she crossed the length of her bedroom, past her couch and coffee table.

Immediately upon heading out into the main hallway, the smell of food increased dramatically. The heaviness of it was invading her nostrils and turned her stomach. Bulma's mother was an excellent cook, but breakfast was never something Bulma had learned to handle. She, like her father, was in no way a morning person.

Trudging down the stairs to the ground floor, she passed slowly through the back of the living room. She was still looking around and taking everything in, though she knew nothing had been changed in her absence. When Bulma entered the kitchen, she felt the creeping annoyance that so often darkened her mornings begin to set in. Though it wasn't unusual for her mother to already be bustling around the kitchen, there was nothing normal about the scene that greeted her here.

The long blinds which covered the sliding glass doors that led to their backyard were twisted to block out the view. Bulma was always comforted by the sight of the center of the Capsule Corporation compound right beyond those doors, with the air cars and elevated trains of downtown West City bustling in the sky beyond. Currently the yard and compound were home to the entire Namekian race. She supposed the Saiyan in the dining room was the reason for obstructing that particular scene.

Vegeta was seated at the head of her family's long, raised wooden table, with his back to the wall opposite her. As she took in his uniform of navy spandex and clean white armor and noticed the rigid set to his shoulders, he crossed his arms and glared at her. She glared back, attempting to look twice as angry. He broke the stare, choosing to gaze blankly at the ornate china cabinet beside him. Bulma rolled her eyes and started toward her mother.

The woman was working in front of the stove, with her pink apron tied in place and a large frying pan on every burner. In the back, eggs were being fried as strips of some meat sizzled next to them. Her mother was currently stirring a pan of diced potatoes which, for some reason, were being prepared separately from all the other vegetables which occupied a wok beside them. The oven light was on, so Bulma could only assume something was baking as well. Dishes and bowls littered the countertops and she could see that the open dishwasher was already filling up.

It looked like dinner-time at the Son's house. Bulma cast a glance over her shoulder toward Vegeta. He snorted lightly as he quickly looked away from her.

"It'll only be another minute Vegeta," her mother said in her sing-song voice. She began to push the potatoes into a large, flat dish.

"Is there coffee?" Bulma asked. Her mother jumped and pushed a spoonful of potatoes onto the counter beside the dish she was aiming for. Vegeta snorted again, louder and less delicately this time.

"Bulma!" Her mother exclaimed while smiling at her, missing the dish a second time. "You'll have to check the pot, but I'm sure your father made some earlier. He's down in his lab."

"Thanks," Bulma snapped sarcastically.

"You're welcome!" Her mother chirped. "Gosh," she giggled. "Look at the mess I'm making!"

Bulma stalked over to the coffee maker. For no real reason, other than the fact that it wasn't yet noon, her mother's dismissive behavior grated on her nerves. Seeing the pot was indeed still half full she snatched the entire thing and moved quickly out of the kitchen, heading back toward the staircase where she would join her father in the lab until she felt ready to deal with other people.

"Don't you need a mug, sweetie?" Her mother called after her as she pounded the five digit access code into the wall panel.

She heard Vegeta snort another time and slammed the door shut behind her. Asshole.

"Bulma?" her father called as she stomped down the stairs.

Who else would it be? "Yeah, Dad," she called, making her way through a few rows of tall shelves before reaching the back of the lab. This was an open space with low tables covered in computers and machinery. She saw him hunched low over a keyboard, Kitty hanging on to his shoulder.

"I'm almost done reviewing the information you transmitted from Namek," he explained without looking up.

For some reason, Bulma mused as she investigated a mug abandoned beside a sink at the end of one work station, this type of dismissal was less insulting. The mug passed inspection and she filled it with coffee without rinsing it out. Maybe it was the fact that her father ignored her in the name of science, while her mother had ignored her in the name of Vegeta. She swallowed a large gulp of black coffee and instantly felt a little better.

She sighed contentedly and moved over toward the small laptop she'd been using to analyze the components of her most exciting invention since the Dragon Radar. Working on the same principles and with a little technology stolen from Freiza's scouters, the components she had left to integrate into the main system, she hoped to create a machine which would not only sense the ki of fighters but allow her to qualify it.

As Bulma passed her father's work station she smiled at the seemingly haphazard mess of wires and scrap metal. He was her favorite example of the absent-minded genius. She paused to refill his coffee cup and scratch Kitty behind one ear, but he diligently continued working.

Bulma had heard Goku describe energy as something which told not only how strong a fighter was, but reflected their personality. She wasn't Piccolo and she'd never meditated or tried yoga, but she wanted the same ability as her friends to read people's ki. As she started her computer she wondered if this invention would work like reading an aura. That was supposed to be able to reveal present emotions as well as provide a more over-reaching view of someone's character, from what she understood. Could she create something that complicated?

"Oh," she said aloud, noticing her mug was empty only after she'd tried to take a drink. As her computer whirred to life and began running systems checks, she drained the last of the pot of coffee into her mug.

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Author's Note: Sorry so short! Don't worry, though, it was just one scene. Please review and let me know what you think. I'm not really satisfied with it, but I can't keep reading it all evening. So, I'm looking for feedback and also help with this beast. :) 'til next time…


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